Pride and Prejudice (and Rock and Roll)
by Stellephante
Summary: The story as you know it with the backdrop of London's underground music scene.
1. Chapter 1

**PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)**

CHAPTER I:

"THANK YOU, YOU'VE BEEN AN AMAZING AUDIENCE! YEOW!" I yelled at the audience as if I was a goddess and nothing could touch me. That's what you have to do when you're in a rock band: get into the persona. Assume a character. Forget who you are in your crappy nine-to-five reception job where people call you Miss Elizabeth, and become Liz: the sassy fiery front-woman for _Wood House on Fire, _a three-piece rock band in London's underground music scene.

I took my final bow before the filthy red velvet curtains were pulled across the stage, and turned to give a wicked grin to Lydia who had started packing down her drum kit.

"Was that nuts or what?!" I said, shouting, as I had gone a little deaf in one ear due to the high-gain amps.

Cheers, Marshall.

"We had so many people!" Lydia agreed, panting a little, her eyes bright with excitement. She would finish packing down her drums then spend her weekly wage at the bar. She was a great drummer but her real talent was alcohol.

Primarily in buying it.

And drinking it.

And buying it for anyone and everyone else who was around her.

She always had a nice crowd of chums floating around and I liked to speculate as to whether her willingness to part with her hard earned cash for a 'spirited' night out was directly responsible. As long as she was happy I suppose.

I switched the amp to 'standby' and lifted my guitar off and placed it in its case before storing it in the back room of the venue. Only once my gear was safe and taken care of could I enjoy my night. When I returned to the stage, Lydia was already at the bar ordering a round of Jaeger Bombs.  
>Charlie was still there wrapping up her leads 'the proper way'. She always had a go at me for not wrapping my leads properly and is probably gagging for the day she can shout "I told you so!" when one of my leads starts to crackle and eventually snuff out. All in jest of course.<p>

Charlie and I went way back. We had met in university a few years back: Charlie was studying Jazz music and music management and I was floating around as most lost souls do with no real direction dabbling in Literature, Anthropology and Art History. It wasn't a real concrete degree but it did equip me with the power to write some clever lyrics.

Wink.

Naturally, being a self-taught musician I felt it my duty to pick up a few music electives, which was how Charlie and I met. It was 'friends at first sight' after we had sat next to each other by accident on day one of _Acoustic Guitar Riffs_ and did the whole 'turn to your neighbour and tell them three things about yourself'. Right off the bat we established a die-hard love for all things ACDC and Led Zeppelin. We'd been inseparable ever since and started _Wood House on Fire_ a year later.

Charlie's Jazz background made her a mean bass player. It also made her very hard on herself when she didn't perform up to her own standards.

I could tell by the way she sighed ever so slightly as she wrapped up her leads.

"Great job, chica." I said in an effort to get her talking. My comment was met with her looking up at me, her mouth tersely shut and rolled her eyes in a 'yeah right' type of way.

"I fucked up so many times! I should never drink before playing. I know that yet I always seem to forget."

"How many did you have?" I remember seeing her with a vodka and lemonade when I arrived but surely she didn't have time to have more than two before we were due to start playing.

"Two." She declared.

Boom. I'm a goddamn mind reader.

"Honestly, I couldn't tell. And anyway, you forget you only play bass. No one's even listening to you most of the time. They can only tell when there's no bass at all." I grinned sarcastically and she tried to whip me with her guitar lead.

"Drink?" I offered. "Pretty sure Lyds just ordered a round of Jaeger Bombs."

"Nah, I gotta drive home."  
>"C'mon, just the one. She'll never forgive you if you don't participate in the post-gig antics – no matter how slightly."<p>

She let out a long breath. "Fine! Who am I to turn down free drinks?"

"That's m'girl."

* * *

><p>We strolled over to the bar together to where Lydia was busy in animated conversation with one of our regular punters.<p>

Three hours later it was 2am. I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket for the first time in a while to check the time and realised I had two missed calls from my sister Jane. I strolled outside and found a corner away from the curious ears of the smokers and hit redial.

She picked up on the third ring.

"Lizzie are you still in town?"

"Heya, yeah just about finished. What's up?"

"My work dinner went a little later than usual. I'm around the corner from the venue. Want to grab a cab home together?"

"Yes please! I can stand to save a few coppers. I'll hail a cab and see you in halfa."

"Coolio! I'll wait outside the restaurant. Buzz me when you're near!"

"No worries. Ciao!"

I headed back into the venue to find the others to say goodbye. On my way back stage to grab my guitar I saw Lydia doing Sambucca shots with five other people – none of whom I recognised. I called out to her and she looked up with the face of someone who had just swallowed something toxic and not very pleasant.

_I'M GOING!_ I mouthed across the room over the in-house music.

She waved enthusiastically for a couple of seconds until one of her 'comrades' clapped her shoulder and said something along the lines of "Wow that was disgusting!"

_Rock and roll._ I thought to myself and pushed through the crowd swaying in a haze to the in-house DJ.

I passed Charlie getting chatted up by a tall gangly guy with bum-fluff instead of a beard and dirty blonde hair asking her for a lighter.

"I'm off, my dear." I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She hugged me quickly and said goodbye.

"Good work tonight!" I shouted over my shoulder – trying to drill the point home.

It didn't take long to flag down a cab and I hopped in the back seat.

I gave the cabbie the address of the restaurant where Jane was waiting and we sped off into the night.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later we pulled up at some fancy-pants restaurant and I saw my sister waiting outside shivering a little in her knee-length party frock and strappy sandals.<p>

"Just pull up here, thanks." I told the driver.

I rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Yoo-hoo! Janey, over here!" I shouted, hoping it would embarrass her.

She laughed at me and I scooted over to let her slide in, my guitar vacating the middle.

"Number 6 Lambton Crescent, Longbourn thanks." Jane told the driver before turning to me. "So, pray tell, how did the gig go?"

"Oh quite delightful, my good lady I can assure you."

It was our thing, to talk like we were snobby Oxford professors or ladies from the nineteenth century. Cheap thrills and habits we'd brought along with us from childhood to adulthood.

"And your good self? Did you enjoy a fine dining in the company of many an eligible young man?"

Jane laughed.

"Oh hardly. They make naught more than fifty thousand a year hence not worth my pursuit."

I broke character to point out that fifty grand in those days would mean that those chaps were millionaires.

We chuckled to ourselves and caught up on each other's nights until we pulled up outside our family townhouse in Longbourn.

We tiptoed in and headed upstairs bidding each other goodnight on the landing before dispersing to our respective bedrooms.

It seemed like an eternity since I'd laid my head down on my pillow and I drifted off somewhere between my alarm clock blaring 3:30 am and the taste of Jaeger Meister underneath my tongue…

* * *

><p>"Girls! Girls! Wake up! I have wonderful news!"<p>

I thought I was dreaming. I opened my eyes a crack – just enough to discern my clock blaring the time_ 9:00 am._

_Too. Early._

I pulled the doona over my head and tried to ignore my mother's incessant wailing from downstairs.

I tried to wish away the heavy footfalls making their way up the staircase.

I tried to pretend I didn't hear the floorboards creak in the direction of my bedroom door.

*BANG BANG BANG*

I remained stubborn in my act of remaining asleep despite my bedroom door flying open and my mother flouncing in and flopping herself down noisily on the end of my bed and then proceeding to shake me awake.

"Lizzie! Are you awake?"

"No." I muffled into my pillow, but my sarcasm was lost on her. Jane had wandered in wondering what was going on and this only increased my mother's delight. Jane was more a morning person than I was.

"My girls, wonderful news!" And then she started speaking so fast I really had to strain every muscle in my face to concentrate:

"Your-cousin-Laura-Gardiner-is-getting-married-and-has-invited-all-of-us-she-managed-to-tie-the-knot-with-that-big-wig-lawyer-and-he-is-inviting-all-of-his-rich-friends-including-I-am-told-the-Bingleys-of-Bingley-and-Hurst-estates-the-real-estate-firm-that-deals-with-heritage-like-homes-chateaux-and-the-likes-and-OH-MY-WORD-what-will-you-all-wear-I-must-fire-up-my-sewing-machine-but-you-must-realise-what-a-golden-opportunity-this-is-and-OH-I-must-call-your-sister-Mary-and-see-if-she-will-be-back-in-time-during-her-university-holidays-and-I-do-hope-she's-doing-well-so-far-from-home-but-OH-MY-GIRLS!-ARE-YOU-NOT-MORE-EXCITED?!"

She finally took a breath then hugged us both before going downstairs to plug in her sewing machine.

That's our mother. High strung. But nothing, I repeat, nothing got her more excited than a wedding. No doubt underneath all that excitement was the dark niggling thought that it should have been one of her own daughters bagging a rich lawyer. I'm sure she's rehearsed her lines when she can finally tell all of her friends and our entire street that one of her daughters was (finally) getting hitched.

I looked over at Jane who was still standing near my open door staring at me imploring me with wide eyes as to what the 'eff' had just happened. I raised an eyebrow at her then dropped my head back on the pillow and began mock snoring.

As I laid there trying not to smirk as Jane giggled at my loud and phlegmy attempts to regain unconsciousness, I wondered which one of us would be the least enthused about this impending wedding: Jane who has long grown tired of our mother suggesting she call 'eligible' young men she knows through a friend of a friend just "dying to settle down!", myself who normally skipped formal occasions and avoided wearing dresses like the plague, or our sister Mary who disliked most people in general.

This wedding was already gearing up to be a bundle of family fun time. I wondered if it would be too impertinent to call my cousin and see if she needed a wedding band…

These thoughts were cut short by Kitty jumping onto my pillow, then arranging herself into a ball of grey fluff right on top of my face the way people tend to warn you cats will do before sucking out your soul.

In her own way, I'm sure Kitty was only trying to help me become unconscious.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own to comment on the drama and comedy I have experienced in my years playing in a rock band to prove one thing: Times change. People never do.<br>****RNR**_  
><em><strong>Stellephante x<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)**

CHAPTER II:

Weddings. Dresses. Eligible men. Money. Parties.

It made me sick to my stomach.

So I reached for the remote and switched off _Gone with the Wind_.

Wink.

But along the same vein, it seemed I couldn't turn anywhere without hearing about my cousin Laura's wedding and how freaking eligible this match was.

That word: eligible. I felt like I had been sucked back in a time-warp and we were in a teeny tiny green village somewhere in a little English country town where we all just sat around and waited to get married off.

The thought made me sick to my stomach. Much like _Gone with the Wind, _which had hit a little too close to home at the moment.

Stupid daytime TV. Why couldn't they play something more along the lines of Terminator? Housewives can froth at the mouth for 1980s Arnie and his rock hard abs.

But I digress.

It was Sunday morning. My cousin's wedding was that afternoon and I was postponing the pleasure of donning the frock my mother had sewed especially. She had made all her daughters dresses most likely in the secret hopes that with her tailoring skills she could spruce us up to be desirable by any single, handsome and rich men. I had asked for something in black but mummy dearest said this was not a funeral so we had to compromise and settled on 'midnight blue'.

Close enough.

It wasn't too bad as far as dresses go: it was knee-length with long bell sleeves and a gold sash. I felt a bit like a Persian princess in it. I'd rather be a bad arse Persian Princess than a helpless damsel. I let Jane do my hair in a low chignon with my fringe still in my eyes. I even let her talk me out of my customary 'stage make-up': black smoky eye shadow and heavy eyeliner. She remained light around the eyes and circumnavigated the red lippy for a more nude shade. You know, to be 'conservative'. I put about three rings on each hand and my high heeled boots and was pretty happy with the result. I concluded that I looked like a Persian Princess Pirate. Nice. I could live with that.

I thanked Jane who looked lovely as always in her dusty pink chiffon lacey number, and clopped across the hall to see how Mary was fairing, who had flown in a couple of days ago after finishing her mid-semester exams at Uni.

I knocked on her door against the blaring tunes of Fall Out Boy. Mary has the most eclectic music taste out of any one I know.

"How's it all goin', sugar mamma?" I asked as Fall Out Boy finished and a track from the TV show _Smash _started blaring. (What did I tell you?)

"I'm not going." Mary was wearing the dress our mother had made her – a deep set violet number, reminiscent of the style of the dresses the dancers wore in _Hairspray_ – in an attempt to make Mary more obliging with her wardrobe choices (She has a thing for musicals).

I found her sitting cross-legged in her dress on her bed, looking like a puffy ball of tulle (if tulle-puffs had a thing for reading Murakami novels).

"If you're not going", I told her, faking a dramatic demeanour, "then I'm not going and Jane will be left to fend off all the greasy fat 'eff's' who want to dance with her and mum will win!"

Mary looked up from her book, annoyed. She stared at me a moment squinting her eyes slightly, mulling over what I had just said.

"Yeah, we can't have that." She replied, and turned over a page in her book and continued to read. I decided to take this action as a sign of her attendance.

"Need help with your hair?" Her shoulder-length mouse brown hair hung limp at the top and fluffy at the ends as if she had just come out of the shower.

"Why, what's wrong with it?"

I laughed.

"I'll go and get Jane."

* * *

><p>The wedding ceremony passed without a hitch. My mother tried not to cry when the couple exchanged their wedding vows and made expostulations of love.<p>

I lie. My mother bawled her eyes out.

I'm still trying to decide whether they were fake tears or not. She does have an air for drama. These exciting thoughts (and more!) were consuming my brain as I sat in the pews picking at the chipped black nail polish on my fingernails. I'm sorry, but weddings just don't seem to move me as they do my mother. I actually find them incredibly dull.

That being said, wedding _receptions_ are what marriage should all be about. This reception was crazy! Mainly because there was an open bar, well stocked to quench the thirst of three hundred guests, majority of whom were taking advantage of this and getting trollied while dancing to the wedding band – sadly, not _Wood House on Fire_.

I did ask, albeit via text, whether my band could play but I never got a reply. Cousin Laura and I were never very close and from what little interaction I have had with her in the past at family Christmases or what have you, I can safely say that we have about the same amount of things in common as a cardboard bookmark does with glittery play dough. (I'm the glittery play dough).

Anyway, I spent majority of the time sitting at our table thick as thieves with Mary as we sat there eating all the breadsticks, asking for more, hiding from unwelcome distant family members and bagging out the drunken guests with our heads bowed.

Jane, surprise surprise, was on the dance floor. Never lacking of partners, our Jane. As if people actually dance with a _dance partner_ anymore. But apparently at weddings they do, and as it so happens, Jane kept going back to the same one: a tall chap with sandy coloured hair and perfectly straight white teeth. They both seemed to spend as much time grinning at each other as they did dancing.

After the live band had played their final song, there was a bit of a break before the in-house DJ would start playing tacky 80s and 90s classics. Possibly even the chicken dance. Kill me now.  
>During the lull in music, Jane made her way over to our table, bringing with her her recurring dance partner and our cousin Laura.<p>

"Hello there, Lizzie. Mary." Laura always had an irritating way of speaking very formally. It just got up my nose and I couldn't even explain to myself why.

"Heya, cuz. Congrats on getting' hitched." I hoped my lack of full words irritated her just as much. I'm mature like that.

"Thank you, cousin." She replied, a little stiffly.

"I would like to introduce my fiancée's… well no, now my _husband's _close family friend," she paused here to giggle in excitement and share a look of glee with Jane at her current change of relationship status before introducing "Charles Bingley."  
>"Just Charlie is fine." Said Mr. Dancer, flashing his blinding pearly whites at us all.<p>

It was at that point, and I'm not sure exactly where the hell she spawned from, that our mother showed up, eagerly pressing her nose into our conversation.

"Not Bingley, as in from _Bingley and Hirst Real Estate_?"

I looked at Mary who just shook her head and sighed. _Oh boy_.

Charlie, to his credit, was a perfect gentleman about it all. He smiled and said, "Yes that's me. My grandfather started the company with his eldest friend, Reginald Hirst. My elder sister, Caroline runs the company now."

My mother seemed a little taken aback by this news. I guess her fantasies about her eldest daughter dancing with the eventual CEO –or one of – in a successful Real Estate Agency were shattered.

"And what it is it you do for a living?"

"I'm a corporate lawyer."  
>"Oh, I see! That must keep you busy."<p>

"Yes it really does." Charlie flashed that smile of his again and I think my mother nearly swooned.

Charlie Bingley then seemed to be distracted by someone over my shoulder seeing as he called out, "Hey Darcy!" and waved to a tall man who had his arms folded behind his back, holding his nose at an angle that suggested he was trying to fight back hay fever and wanted the snot in his nose to tip back into his head. He looked over at Charlie's call.

"Come over here a minute." Charlie beckoned.

The dude, Darcy, came over.

"Ladies this is my eldest friend, Darcy. Will, these ladies are… Jane Bennet and her family. Sorry, I've forgotten your names."

"Not a worry, I don't think we've actually mentioned them. My name is Mrs. Bennet," my mother gushed to the tall stranger, "and these are my other daughters, Elizabeth and Mariah." My mother seemed to have recovered enough from the shock of Bingley Junior's incredibly blinding smile and was onto her next victim.

"We were all at Cambridge together," he explained.

"Oh that sounds exciting!" my mother practically had dollar signs in her eyes instead of pupils. No doubt you boys got up to all kinds of riff-raff during your studies. What did you happen to study, William?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Excuse me." And as quick as that, the prick turned around and left!

Pompous wanker if ever I saw one.

"Ah, yes well. He's an acquired taste, our Darcy." Charlie offered, laughing a little to cover up the awkwardness.

"Anyway, it was lovely meeting you all." And with another blinding smile, he left with Jane as the music started playing up again.

"Well!" My mother exhaled, clearly ruffled. "If I could speak to that man's parents I would tell them off for not raising their son with some manners in politeness!"

"Don't worry about him mum." Mary sounded exasperated. I think our mother's voice grated on her the most. It was those high, shrill decibels. "He's just a colossal arse hat."

"Oh, well said, sis." I agreed.

"Yet his friend is so kind and lovely. It seems my Janey is dancing with the more eligible of the two."

"That's it!" I interrupted, "I've had enough of that word. The next person to say _eligible_ gets wedding cake thrown at their face." I said it jokingly but I meant it.

"Oh, Lizzie. When are you going to gain a little maturity?" Then with another exasperated little sigh, she shuffled off.

"Unbelievable. Like she's one to talk." I said to no one in particular, but Mary answered anyway.

"You can't pick your family. But you can pick your dessert, which seems to be coming around right now."

"Brilliant! You may just have to roll me home, Mary."

* * *

><p>We didn't see Jane or our mother much after that. Good ol' mumsy was floating around the punch bowl, catching up with certain relatives and pointedly avoiding others (most likely from dad's side of the family). Jane had been dancing with Charlie and was occasionally carried off to be introduced to his friends.<p>

After approximately five and a half free gin and tonic's, and some overly enthusiastic head bangs and shimmie shakes thrown at Mary's direction to whatever song starting blaring as if it was the best song ever, I felt rather thirsty from my exertions and headed up to furthermore take advantage of this free open bar.

"Could I grab a gin and tonic please?" I asked a pimply bar tender.

"Would you like lemon or lime with that?"  
>"Err… whatever. No wait, make it lime. Cheers."<p>

I sipped my Gin and Tonic. It seemed the pimply pre-pubescent had given me a generous portion of Gin to Tonic ratio. Nice one.

I spun around and looked for Jane on the dance floor. She wasn't there, but was actually at our table, sharing a slice of berry cheesecake with Mary. Honestly, she's lucky to have scored any at all seeing as Berry cheesecake is my favourite and I ate at least three slices (which would mean that yes, I ate the desserts of other people at our table. I dare them to accuse me. If they do I'll say it was Mary. Or my mother).

I lazily watched the room and fantasised about going home and getting into my comfy pajamas and massaging the balls of my feet when I realised I heard my name in a nearby conversation. A few metres away from me, along the other side of the bar were Bingles and Bonkers a.k.a Charlie Bingley and his chum, Willy Darcy. It didn't take me long to discern that Charlie was telling off his friend for being a rude arse face just moments before.

" – Are you actually retarded, man?"

"I have no idea who that woman was or why you were introducing me to her but I didn't feel like indulging some old gold digger about tales from our Uni past."

"That's a little harsh, don't you think? She was just trying to be friendly."

"How do you know her anyway?"

"I just met them all, actually."

"And this has nothing at all to do with that bird you've been drooling over all night, is it?"

"So you noticed. She is easily the prettiest girl in the room, as well as being a good dancer."

"I guess you're wondering what she's like between the sheets then, hey?"

"Don't go there with me, mate. It's not like that."

"Clearly. You've known her for a few hours and have already been introduced to the whole family it seems."

"Her sisters seem nice. What did you think of that Elizabeth? I hear she's single. And also, very pretty like her sister."

"She's okay I suppose. She's no supermodel though."

"Your standards are and always have been too high."

"And yours seem to be too low. I won't go for anything less than an eight."

"Well sorry to disappoint but I'm dancing with an exact ten. And she's signaling me over. Enjoy being a loner."

"Enjoy being a smiling idiot."

Charlie smirked at his friend and left.

I sat there, glaring into my drink, feeling my cheeks grow hot. Surely they hadn't known I was listening in. My initial reaction was to get angry, to stalk over there and chuck the rest of my drink in that prick's face for what he said about my mum and me. Yet after careful consideration I thought that was a waste of perfectly (free) alcohol, so instead I skulled what was left. I then ordered another as I wiped my mouth in the most unladylike way, before heading over to our table to vent to Mary. I made sure to pass directly in front of Willy Darcy. I looked at him for only a second before looking away quickly and smirking.

"Mary, you'll never guess what I just overheard." I retold Mary everything putting on low-pitched 'male' voices until we were both in tears laughing.

I thought at one point I caught Darcy watching us out of the corner of my eye and wondered if he knew what we were laughing about, but I couldn't be sure. I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking directly at him just in case. I hoped he was.

What a revolting, judgmental, prude of a dude.

* * *

><p>In the car ride on the way home, mum was drilling Jane on her new dance partner. Apparently they had swapped numbers and he had promised to call her to catch up for coffee soon. Our mother was delighted – though I secretly wondered if she would have been more excited if her eldest's new romantic interest had an interest in the family business.<p>

Mary and I decided to keep Darcy's comments to ourselves. Jane was overly sensitive and wouldn't take it well and our mother wouldn't let us hear the end of it. I sat in the back seat with my head leaning against the window. I had a bit of a headache thanks to the gin.

Weddings are overrated, I decided. I doubted whether or not I would ever marry. It didn't seem at all very likely.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own.<br>Times change. People never do.  
><strong>**RNR**_  
><em><strong>Stellephante x<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)**

CHAPTER III:

There is a saying. And it is a great saying. So great that I've forgotten how it goes. However I remember the gist which is all that's important when it comes to sayings: it's basically something really sycophantic along the lines of how you can measure how great your night was by how completely awful you feel the next morning. I'm not sure of the exact wording but, yeah. Considering how god awful my head felt the morning after the wedding, you would think I'd had the time of my life.

That's not to say I'd had a crap time per se, but attending the wedding of a cousin I only saw once a year at family gatherings only to overhear myself and loved ones being insulted by a pompous dickhead was not in my top list of great nights out.

But I digress.

We woke up to our mother raving and ranting about the night's events to my dad at very high decibels.

"Oh my word, Mr. Bennett. You should have seen how much weight Mrs. Long has put on! She looked positively pregnant! What was she thinking wearing peach? It completely washed her out!" "You would have loved the buffet! You should have tasted the prawn cocktails! I bet the in-laws are very well to do to afford such a gourmet spread! Maybe if we'd had a son, my dear, to put through law school, we could eat like that every night and not think twice about the expense!" "Mr. Bingley is his name! He is positively charming! But you will not believe, his friend is not very nice at all! Rude, obnoxious, he thinks he's so above us all. Everyone was talking about how rude they found him! He hardly spoke to anybody! How he came to be friends with someone as lovely as Charles Bingley, I'll never understand."

Her voice carried through the house.

My poor father.

He didn't come to the wedding as he suffered from a severe migraine on the eve of the wedding. Three guesses how and why on earth he would be subject to headaches…

I opened Mary's room just a crack to find her playing Borderlands on Play Station 3 with headphones on. I could hear the gunshots and skag cries practically through the door.

I knocked on Jane's door and she was at her desk, going through her emails. We exchanged empathetic glances as our mother's voice carried up the stairs (she was going into detail about what everybody was wearing and how inappropriately girls dressed these days 'but not her girls who were practically the belles of the ball in hand-made designs of her own'. Us Bennett girls most definitely learnt modesty from our father).

"Want to get out of here?" I asked her

"God yes." She replied, closing the lid of her laptop and reaching for her purse.

* * *

><p>The day was fine and the sun was out so we grabbed a table outside at Camden Coffee House. Jane ordered Jasmine and Pomegranate tea and a croissant, and I ordered blueberry pancakes with bacon and a huge eff-off coffee (best hangover meal, once your stomach is able to digest again).<p>

"So," I started suggestively "did you get his number?"

"Who's number?"

"Oh, I think you know who I mean. Mister-I-don't wanna-dance-with-nobody-but-you? You were the hub of the wedding reception. I'm pretty sure cousin Laura was a little jealous."

"You better be kidding. I would hate to be talked about like that by our entire extended family!"

"Stop avoiding the subject and give me details! What's he like? Do you like him? Does he like you? Out with it!"

My sister paused to take a polite nibble of her croissant and stare at me blankly while chewing slowly. I mimicked her with an oversized mouthful of pancake and chewed sloppily making lots of unladylike noises on purpose.

The elderly women sipping tea at the table next to us were not amused.

I raised my eyebrow and kept chewing like a camel that had just discovered chewing gum, until finally Jane couldn't keep a straight face anymore and choked on her croissant to hide laughter.

"Alright! You win. Yes he's quite lovely. He was a real gentleman. I never thought I'd use that word to describe anybody of our generation, but he truly seemed nice and genuine."

"He genuinely made no secret of wanting to dance with you and nobody else."

"He gave me his number. And added me on Facebook. And twitter."

"What? No home address? What if you wanted to pen him a love letter?"

"Shut up and eat your disgusting breakfast."

"What the hell's wrong with my breakfast?" I licked each finger like a Viking.

Jane looked grossed out. "Ew."

"Are you going to see him again?"

Her eyes got a kind of shine I hadn't seen before. "I really hope so."

And then as if on cue, her phone buzzed. She took one like at it and smiled.

"Guess who?" she said to me quietly before starting to text back.

It seemed my sister was smitten.

* * *

><p>Later that afternoon, I was parking my old Toyota Camry outside The Joint, where <em>Wood House on Fire<em> did all our weekly band rehearsals. I saw both Charlie's and Lydia's cars parked already. They were early for a change. That was strange…

I grabbed a trolley and loaded my amp, my guitar and effects pedals and wheeled my way through the lobby.

"Studio five today, Liz." Clive, one of the guys who worked there greeted me from behind the desk. I waved and pushed on.

The door to room number '5' was slightly ajar, and I could hear the voices of my band from inside carry through to the corridor.

"…This is a big deal! We have to tell her _now_ so that we can all be on the same page and try and get in with them!" Lydia.

"I wouldn't be too hasty just yet. We have no way of getting into contact with him. Why don't we find out more before saying anything?"

I opened the door. "Who are we trying to get in contact with?"

They both looked like they'd been caught doing something naughty. It made me grin internally.

"Oh good you're here. How are you?" Lydia recovered quickly.

"Great. What's going on?"

They both exchanged a look with each other.

"Why don't you come in and start setting up. We'll fill you in."

"Ok…?" I predicted that this wouldn't be good.

I wheeled in and started setting everything up.

"We're thinking about taking things to the next level," Charlie started.

"We just got word through the grapevine," Lydia unable to contain herself "that there's a new big Music PR and distribution company opening up in town! They're taking a bunch of unknown bands on board and I think we'd be silly not to get involved!"

"Great!" I genuinely thought that was a great idea. Any help we could get to secure quality gigs and in getting our name out there was definitely worth pursuing. I had no idea why they had been so tentative to mention this to me. This was exciting stuff!

"Should we send in a recording or go down in person?"

The other two shared a silent look with each other and it made me nervous.

"What?" I asked.

Lydia looked at me quickly then at the floor.

"What is it?!" I was growing more and more frustrated by their silence.

"You tell her." Lydia nominated Charlie.

"This new Music PR Company is headed by a fairly young CEO. He's someone you might know."

"Who?"

"Jerry Collins…"

"F*** the f*** off!"

"Just hear us out, Liz!"

"No f***ing way! You want me to go down there and kiss his speckled arse don't you! No bloody thank you!"

"Come on Liz! I know you don't like him, but it would really help us! It's who you know in this industry and the fact that you have a family member working there gives us nothing short of a strong advantage!"

I sighed. They just didn't get it. "I'm going to grab the rest of my gear from my car."

In truth there was no other gear to grab from my car but I just needed a minute to organise my thoughts.

Obviously to an outsider this wouldn't seem like a big deal, but Jerry Collins was a big deal. It was a big deal for me to avoid him and not have any – or as little as possible interaction with him.

I'd like to take this time to point out that technically, Jerry wasn't even our cousin. One of our uncles remarried a woman who already had a kid from a previous marriage (yeah, that's our dear old Jerry). We call him cousin (and her aunt) to be polite but there is no actual blood relation.

Jerry, my sisters and I all went to the same Primary School. He was the kid who got picked on at school for his thick glasses and for using too much hair gel and reeking of antiperspirant and for his stupid batman converse shoes. When the other kids were laughing at him he thought they were sharing a joke with him and would join in.

I felt sorry for him growing up, as did my sisters and we stood up for him. He went to a different high school to us and we didn't see him much after that.

Fast forward to university, and he became really weird.

And I mean really weird.

Being in an environment where knowledge was power, Jerry Collins was a king. He quickly embraced his nerd-chic look and ironic penchant for pop culture references on items of his clothing and became the biggest, fattest know-it-all.

I knew enough to make this assessment of him from our yearly family Christmas gatherings, which was practically the only time I ever saw him (much like cousin Laura). It was this auspicious day once a year that I quickly understood that I had to implore self-preservation by pointedly avoiding him.

It's not that Jerry is mean or vicious or openly arrogant, he can actually seem quite pleasing when you first meet him. But it's just the subtle way he makes condescending remarks then covers them up with smiles and a low-volume voice.

On a much bigger point, I learnt the hard way that if you give Jerry even the slightest inclination of being nice, he will take it too far and will not leave you alone. I think one Christmas two years ago I decided the only way I was going to get through the family-fun-filled event was with the help of a well-hidden drink bottle full of vodka. In my slightly inebriated state, I thought I would be kind to cousin Jerry for a change.

Well.

For the next month and a half I would end each day with four missed calls from him, endless text messages (wondering why I wouldn't pick up my phone), countless Facebook notifications (he commented on EVERYTHING, even old photos from years back which means he's been stalking – gross) and it all got too much to the point that I had to call him up and explain why I was never available: because I had a life. That stopped the calls and texts quick smart, let me tell you.

To hear that the bigheaded, nerdy idiot had gone and gotten qualified in something related to the music industry really pissed me off. Music was my thing. And now he had put himself in a position of power to possibly control the fate of my band's success, and by extension, me.

And now the others wanted me to 'take one for the team' and waltz into his office and ask this young and spritely CEO of a Music distro' company to take us on board…

Surely there had to be another way, somewhere else we could go, other people we could ask. I would volunteer myself to hound down their doors! I would make them want us! With this plan in mind I headed back inside.

I re-opened the door to the practice room with my complaint and plea on the tip of my tongue, but Charlie got there first.

"If you do this for us, we will pay your share of the rehearsal space and buy you drinks at every gig for the next two months."

"All we want you to do is go and talk to him." Lydia backed up.

I paused mid-sentence.

That sounded like a pretty good deal for one measly conversation with a dude who might say no. And even then I still got out of paying room rental and had free drinks on my horizon…

Maybe I was being silly. Maybe I should have a more even-headed business brain and not be so arrogant as to think I had tarnished my relationship with Jerry Collins. As if he would remember me telling him to get a life anyway.

Still, the thought of talking to Jerry and asking him for a favour in relation to something that meant the world to me, or even name-dropping to one of his under-hands in the hope that they would want to have a sit down with us made me want to curl up and die.

"Will you do it?" Charlie pressed.

I sighed.

"F*** it. I'll do it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own.<br>Times change. People never do.  
><strong>**RNR**_  
><em><strong>Stellephante x<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

**PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)**

CHAPTER IV:

So I know I said I'd do it. Everyone heard me say it. I heard me say it.

…

But I really don't want to! Don't make me! Urgh….!

This sucked. I had a feeling like I had cornered myself into compromising all my dignity and the future of my band was in the hands of my slimy half cousin.

Great…

On a much more pleasanter note, Jane had really hit things off with Bingers. Things had started off in the usual way, texting and calling and giggling at texts and giggling over the phone, and then they had gone on their first official date (which silenced a lot of hopeful young harlots around town who had hoped that the rich handsome lawyer's attention to our Janey was only an act of politeness with no real merit or feeling behind it).

When our mother heard the news of the impending romantic soiree, she went into overdrive.

"I must make you the most perfect dress!"

"Mum, I think Jane is capable of dressing herself,"

"Nonsense, Lizzie. You don't know what you're talking about. She will be the talk of the town in another Bennett original!"

Sigh.

Long story short, the date went really well. Jane had returned all smiles and carrying a neat bouquet of dusty pink roses. They're on a vase on her windowsill (I've seen her literally whiff their perfume and sigh like something out of a period drama novel).

This first date led to another date, and another follow up, then three weeks later, in true elite fashion, Bingly and co. decided they would treat themselves to a minibreak in Spain. On the Canary Islands of all places! They say money can't buy happiness but money is the only thing that will get you to exotic locations.

And guess who he invited to come along with all expenses paid for a week of beach parties and alcohol served in coconuts with coloured umbrellas?

Some people get all the luck!

Jane had made her intentions of refusing, as it was 'too much' but our mother had insisted. Naturally.

So my sister was off on a whirlwind romantic mini-break to Spain with her new amour and the only man I had on my immediate horizon was my estranged and ridiculous cousin who I was about to bend over and kiss the arse of in the name of Rock and Roll.

Life is really not fair sometimes.

In typical English fashion, it was a cold and dreary day and the rain was pattering on my window. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed playing scales on my guitar absent-mindedly, occasionally eyeing off my phone, which was sitting on my desk.

I contemplated calling Jerry Collins.

I seriously thought about it.

I know I should do it.

I'll do it now.

After I run every musical mode in the key of G.

Now I'll call him.

After I do a bit of blues improvisation in the key of G, just to touch on everything.

NOW, I'll get around to it.

Though, my new solo needs a bit of work. It's better that I work on that.

I looked over at my phone. I gave it the stink eye. This is ridiculous. How did I end up in this position? Why did I agree?

As if the small evil contraption heard me, it jingled as I got a message.

I started and glanced at it cautiously.

_**Charlie sent you a text message: **__have you asked your cousin yet?_

God Damn! _I'm getting around to it!_ I was tempted to text back. Though I couldn't bring myself to click send, as I knew that wasn't really the truth. I was trying to put it off hoping that the whole problem would go away. This started a daydream of all the different scenarios in which I didn't have to have anything to do with Jerry Collins…

I was jolted back to reality by my door flying open and my mother barging in looking like a crazy woman. Well, more crazy than usual. Her hair was on end, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot like she was on the verge of tears. She really has no concept of chilling out, my mother.

Bless her cotton socks.

"LIZZIE! It's terrible! Your sister has come down with a very bad flu! She just sent us a post card and said she's been BED-RIDDEN! You must go to her and convince her to pretend to be well again! She can't be locked away in her hotel room while Bingley is out CAVORTING with other Spanish strumpets in bikinis! I've got enough frequent flyer points for a ticket! You can bunk with her when you get there! I'd go myself but that would be MIGHTY inappropriate! Actually do you think I should go instead?"

"But what if I catch her cold?"

"There's more important things at stake Lizzie! Can you stop thinking of yourself for one minute?!"

I weighed up this question in my head. Then a sadistic grin came across my face.

"Mother," I said, "it would be my utmost pleasure to put all my personal problems and worries on hold and fly to Spain and take care of my sister."

YES!

I picked up my phone and hit 'reply'.

_Sorry, Charlie. _ I typed. _Family emergency. I'm off to Spain! _*winkie face*.

Mr Collins, our impending interview shall have to wait. Family first and all that jazz!

Hee hee…

* * *

><p>I've never really minded flights. I always thought it a rather glamourous way to travel and would picture pin up girls from the 1940s hitting the tarmac in their aviators with bouncy blonde curls and red lipstick.<p>

I sat in my window seat daydreaming about the 40s. It was a three and a half hour flight to Spain. I passed the time reading Game of Thrones, watched a couple of episodes of _Neighbours_ (shameless Australian sitcom) ordered a gin and tonic from the stewardess to go with my egg salad sandwich then slept.

Before I knew it, I was in Spain!

As I waited for my bag to arrive on the carousel I dialed Jane's number. She picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" She sounded congested and groggy.

"Hey sis, what's happening?"

"Oh hi Lizzie! I hab da flu. Where're you? Id sounds bery noisy."

"Our mother sent you the best cure for your cold."

"What?"

"Your dear old sis. I'm on las Islas Canarias, chica!"

"You're kiddink! Oh please ged here quickly! Do you know da name ob da hodel? Can' wait to see you! I feel rotton! Please ged'ere soon!"

I spied my bag going around the conveyer belt.

"I'm on my way. Be there ASAP!"

I collected my bag and headed to the taxi rink.

The sun was positively glorious. I could get used to this…

I fished my sunglasses out of my bag and leaned my face towards the sun, smiling.

Paradise.

My reverie was interrupted by the sound of a car honking. I looked around and there was an expensive looking town car with the back window rolling down to reveal the face of none other than… Mr. Darcy.

No effing way.

He dropped his glasses to the end of his nose and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here, Miss. Bennet?"

Urgh. He has that same annoying formal tone as cousin Laura.

I raised an eyebrow back at him, "Enjoying the sun as you can see."

He didn't look impressed.

"My sister is sick. In case you didn't know."

He leaned back into his car and spoke to his driver before leaning out of the window again.

"Do you need a lift?"

_Not with you!_ I wanted to scream. But who knows how much more expensive taxis were here. And my Spanish wasn't that good. They'd hear I was a tourist and double charge me on principle.

For lack of money's sake, and riding with someone who knew where they were going I made the smart decision.

_For Jane_. I thought who sounded like she needed a friend.

"Thank you. Yes." I said with as much stiff decorum as I could muster.

His driver took my bag and I scooted into the back seat with the most pompous wanker in all of England.

I had gone from agonizing over faking politeness with my estranged cousin to faking politeness with a man who ate arrogance for breakfast.

Why do I keep getting myself into these situations?

This was going to be one long car ride…

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own.<strong>_

_**Huge big massive thank you to all the amazing reviews of the story so far. There's a lot in store from here on out. Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>**RNR**_  
><em><strong>Stellephante x<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

**PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (and Rock and Roll)**

CHAPTER V:

"How is it possible that you have a cold while the weather is so amazingly glorious outside?!"

I had made it to the hotel in one piece and drew her curtains back a crack to peak outside to the site of sun-kissed palms and white sand beaches.

"I fink I still ned ter climatise," bless poor Janey's heart, she was heavily congested. That's what happens when you're not used to leaving cold and dreary weather for hot, hot, heat.

"Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?" she nodded. I went over to her mini bar and made two cups of tea before setting them on the little table by her window.

"Do you feel well enough to sit up? You might spill your tea on your sheets and that would be a bit difficult to explain to the hotel staff…"

"Oh shuddup, Lizzie," Jane giggled, yet all the same, she threw her sheets back and wedged her feet into the hotel slippers before padding over to the table.

She added honey to her tea and stirred. "So, why are you here? How can you afford to take leab offa work?"

"I told them it was a family emergency. Mum saw your post card and flipped and thought you could use a companion – or rather someone to force you to leave the hotel room, pep you up on drugs, make you pretty and make you cavort around your suitor."

"Now, I hab no trouble beliebing that. How bad is that?" We both grinned into our teacups.

"Was a taxi expensive?"

I gave her a look like _don't ask_.

"That bad?"

"Technically I didn't take a taxi…"

"What do you mean?"

"I…had an escort."

"Who?!"

"Your mate."

"Which mate?"

"Matey."

"Lizzie my head feels like its gonna explode and my nose is all clogged. Please don't make this difficult."

I sighed. "Literally as I was leaving the airport Will Darcy rolls up in this ridiculously expensive car – and he's not even driving it. He's in the back seat sipping martinis like James Bond. Well not really. Anyway, he offered to drive me."

"No way! And you said yes?"

"Of course I did! I'm a poor musician who staples pieces of paper to make ends meet. Of course I'm going to accept a free lift from someone who knows where they're going. It's a big wide world out there with a lot of shady characters. Many a bad man would take advantage of a wide-eyed English girl like me."

"Oh come off it, Lizzie, as if that's ever stopped you before."

I grinned and took a long, labourious slurp of my tea.

"What happened in that car? I want to know everything!"

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm bored and sick and the only reason you're here is to look after me."

"Well that tea seems to be working. You sound better already."

"What's he like? Tell me everything he said!"

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything!"

"Urgh, okay. So he rolled up at the airport and offered me a ride…" 

Darcy: Do you need a lift?

Lizzie: Thank you. Yes. _(sits in back seat)_

Darcy: Driver, vamos al hotel de San Remo por favor.

Driver: Si, señor.

_(Silence)_

Darcy: I wasn't expecting to see you in Spain.

Lizzie: I wasn't expecting to be here.

Darcy: What brings you to this part of the world?

Lizzie: Like I said, my sister Jane is sick.

Darcy: So you say, yet surely she is capable of looking after herself.

Lizzie: Nobody likes to be alone when they're sick.

_(More Silence)_

Darcy: And how does she fare?

Lizzie: I don't know. I'm going to see her now.

Darcy: Then how can you assume she is sick?

Lizzie: She sent what's called a postcard from her holidays as well as what all the kids call 'email'. Perhaps you've heard of them?

Darcy: You're mocking me.

Lizzie: You're insinuating my sister is faking her illness.

Darcy: You're assuming my insinuation.

Lizzie: I assume we're here now.

Darcy: So we are. Enjoy your stay, Miss Bennet.

_(Lizzie rolls eyes and gets out of vehicle)_

"And, scene." I clutched my hand to my chest with my eyes closed like a regular thespian.

"Owch." Jane said, "So cold. Was that literally all that you two talked about?"

"To his credit, he was very determined to make polite conversation to avoid awkward silences, but I swear he was so skeptical as to why I was really here. As if I had hidden intentions. That man is a germ."

"I guess you could say the same of me now." I grinned.

"Seriously though, Jane, have you seen Bingers recently?"

"Please don't call him that. And he has called up a couple of times and stopped by to see how I'm faring."

"Well you already look like you've got a bit of your colour back. Is this the first time you've been out of bed?"

"Yeah," Jane paused, thinking, "I guess it is. I do feel a lot better actually."

* * *

><p>And she was doing better. That evening I managed to convince her to take a bath and put on a loose sundress and head down to the beach. She was still a little pale and had a stack of tissues in her bag but she could stand upright without feeling woozy. Plus the weather was fine outside with a slight breeze. All in all, it had to be better than a stuffy hotel room.<p>

That night, there was your typical beach party going on: Bonfire, beachfront bar, music and laughter. As the sun rolled down, we strolled down some time in the early evening and followed the faint sound of electronic drumbeats coming from the beach.

It was an exhilarating feeling to be in an exotic place wearing a summer dress in the sand with a party going on. This never ever happens in England!

I flashed a wide grin at Jane and noticed that she was grinning too, but at something else in the distance.

Bingley.

He strode over with another girl on his arm. _What a cheat!_ I thought, my smile quickly evaporating.

He flashed his pearly whites, which were blinding from even a three-metre distance.

"It is good to see you out and about, Jane. You look well."

"Thank you, Charlie, I do feel better."

I was still goggling at this slender girl with jet-black hair on _Charlie's_ arm.

"And you too, Elizabeth, welcome to the Canary Islands!"

"Thank you."

"Oh _you're_ Elizabeth!" exclaimed the slinky black haired girl.

Charlie chimed in, most likely to make a hasty cover story. The turd.

"Oh you two have probably not met. Elizabeth, this is my sister Caroline."

…_Oh!_ Not a turd after all! Just very – scarily – close with his sister. Me and Jane don't even hold hands and we're considered close (and also considered of the same gender). I guess protocol is different when you're running with the elite.

I assumed my obligatory over-politeness, similar to the mood I assumed when I was stuck in that car with Darcy (I don't know why but I was still getting over the fact that this girl was a relation of Charlie's and not somebody he was cheating on my sister with).

"It's lovely to meet you, Caroline."

"And you as well! I've heard so much about you!"

"Have you?" I raised an eyebrow in Bingley's direction. "Only good things, I hope."

"Oh yes, only the highest praise." Something in her tone as she said this made me believe she was pulling a Mean Girl too.

Whatever. Her make-up looked stupid. Who wears red lipstick to the beach?

"I absolutely _adore_ your dress Jane! Where did you get it?" My Mean Girl hypothesis was definitely confirmed after that comment.

"Oh thank you! Lizzie picked it out for me."

A flash of a laugh crossed Caroline's face, but only for a second. Only a very cynical person regarding her with the utmost discretion and dislike would have picked up on it (me).

"Well she has fine taste." She flashed an equally pearly white grin at me.

"Don't you think Jane's dress is pretty, Charles?"

_Charles?!_Oh my god where is a bucket? Can I throw up now or later? Am I in a Dicken's novel or dining with the Queen of England? Who the hell calls their son Charles anyway, let alone their brother?!

"Yes, Jane looks very fine in that dress." Both Caroline and I looked at Bingley at the same time. He had clearly mistaken her meaning and was regarding my sister with a very intense gaze.

Wow. The affection there was undeniable.

"Would you like a drink, Jane?" he asked her softly.

"Oh, I think I shouldn't drink just y-,"

"That's a great idea Jane!" I interrupted probably a little too loudly, "Order a Bloody Mary. It does wonders for the sinuses!"

What a goodie two-shoes she is for giving up an opportunity to be doted on by this man (who I can confirm is NOT with that skank), who clearly has the hots for her, BAD.  
>Mum would be so proud of me. I made a mental note to mention this to her when I got home and pick up some well-deserved brownie points. And if I was really lucky, some actual brownies!<p>

Charlie smiled and held out his hand to Jane. They strolled off together towards the beach.

I eyed Caroline. She eyed me. Our immediate disdain for each other was clear, but I didn't really know what I had done to offend her except practically throw my sister at her brother.

Wars have started over less, I guess.

Caroline broke the silence first, "Well, it was lovely to meet you at last, Eliza. Enjoy the party!"

Eliza. Urgh. This bitch was worse than Cousin Laura. Now, come to think of it, they'd have so much in common…

She didn't give me a response to say anything in reply before flouncing off down the beach, shimmying her hips as she went. She lifted a perfectly bronze arm to wave at somebody in the distance, a man in dark glasses. He handed her a drink and she accepted gracefully. She then leaned in close and said something to him, making the man look up in my. He caught my eye quickly and turned back to say something to Caroline. They shared a laugh. Caroline looked back then with a big grin on her face to drive her point home that they were indeed talking about me.

It wasn't until man tipped his sunglasses to the end of his nose to see her better, that I recognised who it was: Mister bloody Darcy. Well that was just perfect.

Looks like he found the perfect girlfriend, and boy are they definitely suited to each other!

I rolled my eyes hoping that Caroline saw and wandered off to the bar.

* * *

><p>I would just like to take this opportunity to say, that if you come from a rich family, no doubt you would have received the most impressive and expensive education. Where do people get off – Caroline in particular – acting like high school bitch faces?<p>

All these thoughts and more popped into my head as I ordered a Mojito (completely in Spanish, yes I'm proud. At least I have the important vocabulary down pat: ordering drinks. Wink.). I found myself entertaining fantasies about cutting all of Caroline's hair off while she slept. She would love that. Not.

I grinned like a Cheshire into my glass.

"You look like a girl who has a secret."

A tall man in a loose fitted white shirt materialised to my left, watching me circumnavigate a purple paper umbrella to slurp my Mojito.

"I have no secret. Only a lingering thirst I wish to satiate."

Whoa, did that mean to sound like flirting?!

Slightly embarrassed, I kept slurping to hopefully enforce my meaning: that I meant my drink.

He took a seat beside me and ordered a scotch on the rocks.

I peaked a glance at him from the corner of my eye as he did so: He was your typical tall, dark and handsome sort with a loose white cotton shirt open half way down to reveal a perfect sun tan – this struck me as odd because I detected a distinct English accent. Any normal Englishman with a tan had clearly gotten into his girlfriend's fake tan bottles, yet this tan looked far from fake…

He turned to glance at me with a smirk and I looked away probably too hurriedly.

"And tell me, is your thirst satiated?" he inquired innocently.  
>I nearly choked on my drink.<p>

"Um, yes, I would definitely recommend the Mojitos from this place."

He laughed a hearty carefree laugh. "Noted."

"My name is George by the way."

I nearly choked on my drink a second time. _George_! That name so didn't suit! If he was called Julio or Logan or Mario – something a bit more exotic than George! So much laughing out loud was going on in my head (LOL).

"Hola George. I'm Elizabeth." He held out his hand and I took it. "What brings you to the Canary Islands?" I was full of false confidence, trying to cover up my previous bumbling blunders.

"Oh you know, all the canaries."

"Har. Har."

"No, I came to enjoy the weather. I chase the sun, you see. England is way too cold and dreary for my taste."

"Does the sun pay you to chase it?" Again, did that sound like I was flirting? Completely unintentional! I blame the alcohol!

"I wish. That would be something wouldn't it? Alas no, I am a surfing instructor by trade."

"Ah. This is not a trade commonly found in England."

"So you can understand my constant relocation." He swished the ice blocks in his scotch glass around, looking at them thoughtfully. Or passively. To be honest, it was very hard to tell.

"And moving around to locales with guaranteed ladies in bikinis is just an added bonus, I imagine?"

"An unexpected, glorious bonus."

"A bona-fide bonus."

We looked at each other then. Not just a glance, but more like a long deep look of understanding on a deeper level that words couldn't really give justice – especially since it was preceded by one of the most ridiculous conversations I'd ever had, and that was saying something. It was an odd feeling and not one I had ever felt before. It wasn't lust or infatuation per se. The only way I could describe it was that lame thing girls call 'having a connection'. I even felt my legs turn to jelly. It could very well have been the Mojito but I wasn't entirely sure.

We were interrupted by Jane calling out my name, walking up to the bar from the waterfront.  
>"Hey! Have you had a nice time?" I asked, secretly grateful for the distraction.<br>"It's been wonderful! But I think we should head back soon. I'm feeling a little light-headed." She was all smiles and had a little more colour in her cheeks. It was a good sign, and only served to further add to her overall prettiness.

As she said this, Bingers and Bonkers (a.k.a Darcy) strolled up with Caroline (I must think of a name for her beginning with B… too easy).  
>"You aren't leaving already?" Bingley's voice was full of concern.<br>It seemed as good a time as any to bid farewell to my new, um acquaintance, but as pathetic as it seemed, I was a bit disappointed.

I glanced over at him. He looked over at me, then over at Darcy and actually waved.

_Um, okay?_

I looked up to see Darcy's reaction and he looked like he was going to punch George in the face. _Come on_. I thought _He's clearly just playing_. Surely Darcy could be more jovial to a stranger's mock-inclusiveness in an awkward situation.

I tried to catch Darcy's eye so he could see my judgement yet was quickly uninspired when I caught his expression: he was positively livid. His gaze was colder than usual, his brow was furrowed so far forward he looked like the Beast in Beauty and the Beast, and I swear there was steam coming out of his nostrils.  
>Without another word, he turned around and walked away.<p>

"William! Where are you going?"

To my secret delight he didn't even acknowledge her, he just wandered off along the beach, kicking a random shell (a little too hard) as he went.  
><em>What the actual hell?<em>  
>There had to be a little bit more going on here than Darcy's special brand of standoffishness. Unless he was an utter and COMPLETE psycho…which could be possible now that I thought about it…<p>

"What was that about?" I asked George as Jane began to say her goodbyes to Charlie and his sister,

"Oh you saw that, did you? We claim an acquaintance."

"You've met William Darcy before?"

"Yes, we both studied at Cambridge together." What a freaking small world.

"Cambridge! I didn't know they offered a Bachelor of Surfing."

He grinned weakly. It was clear there was more than met the eye to the story connecting these two gentlemen.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked suddenly

"Um, I'm not sure."

"Grab a coffee with me and I'll tell you the whole sordid story."

"Um, I'll have to check with my sister."

"Here's the number to my hostel just in case."

Then before I could say anything in protest, he shoved a card in my hand, said "Room 134" then pecked me on the cheek and strode off down the beach just as Darcy had.  
>Stunned, I stood there with my hand still clutching his card.<p>

"Lizzie, are you alright?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, just wondering what the deal is with men in this place."

"What do you mean?" she looked after George Wickham in concern.

"I don't know. They all seem to leave in a hurry and disappear down the beachfront as if it's going out of fashion."

Jane gave me a quizzical look. I said nothing more and we made our way home in comfortable silence.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: all rites for any semblance of characters and plot to Pride and Prejudice belong to Jane Austen. I am merely borrowing her tale to spin one of my own.<strong>_

_**RNR**_  
><em><strong>Stellephante x<strong>_


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